Release
by lucyjoan
Summary: Bartemius Crouch, Jr. needs a way out from his awful life.  He finds release in the form of impersonating Mad-Eye "Alastor" Moody. ON INDEFINITE HIATUS
1. Drabble

**So this is just an idea that popped into my head...that happens a lot with me. I've always thought ole Barty was a pretty cool guy (other than the fact that he's completely evil) and wanted to do a story chronicling his life during the 1994/1995 school year. The intro is a little bit boring, and who knows, the whole thing might turn out to be boring also. That's a risk you'll have to take. Also for those of you reading my story Tumble, I'm going to post another chapter really soon, and for the none of you reading Spiral Down, it might take a little longer. Enough of my rambling. Here ya go:**

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><p>Ever go to bed wishing you won't wake up in the morning? Well, welcome to my world. My life has no point, ever since the Dark Lord fell. My days are filled with nothing. Literally nothing. I am allowed to do nothing but sit, in the kitchen, with an Invisibility Cloak covering my body and our dumb House Elf by my side. I am not even allowed a wand.<p>

My father does not love me. I know that, give me no bullshit about him. He is not fit to be a father.

My mother loved me. Loved, because now she is dead. She died to free me, and I hate her for it. I left one prison for another. In Azkaban, at least my imprisonment was noble. There is nothing noble about prison in my father's house.

I should be seeking him out. I know it. I am under guard of no dementor. I should be free.

My father is almost worse than the dementors. With them, I could not remember anything pleasing. With him, I am forced to remember. The memories haunt me, reminding me brutally of better times. Reminding me brutally of what I should be doing.

There is no way I can find him. Not with the _guardianship_ of my father. What a joke. He only keeps me because he fears what I will do if he lets me out.

Rightfully so.

And there is no way the Dark Lord can find me. He lives still, that I know, but he is no longer the same man he was before. He is broken. I can feel it. He is broken, and he needs a faithful follower to renew him. He cannot possibly find me. Especially not when the only person outside my household who knows of my existance is the heedless Ministry witch Bertha Jorkins. She is not one of his followers, I know that much. He did not let even his most loyal followers know of the others. But Jorkins is not fit to serve the Dark Lord. No one is fit to serve him like I am.

I am trapped here. Trapped, in a greater torture than Azkaban. In a greater torture than death.

I would kill myself if I could. There is no point to life without the Dark Lord. But my father does not even allow me a wand to take my life. My pitiless, useless life.

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><p><strong>One last thing (I didn't want to overload you in the beginning): this marks my fifth story on ! I can now officially become a beta reader :D (This probably doesn't matter to you, but it makes me happy)<strong>


	2. A Day in the Life

**So here it is: Chapter 2. I was originally going to make it longer but decided to give you this now. This chapter is probably a little boring too, but you try to imagine the inside of an insane man's head, locked by himself in a house for hours. It's quite boring in there.**

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><p>The painful day begins like any other: with the torturous squeak of the House Elf.<p>

"Master Barty!" the creature wails. "Master Barty, please wake up!"

I swing my legs over the edge of my hard bed, my bare toes surprised as always against the chilly tile floor. The morning is the only time I am visible. The morning is the only time I exist.

I glare at what the mirror shows: an empty shell of a great man. The scruff on my face is matted and impossible; my skin is pale and blotchy and hasn't seen the sun since my great days. I stumble into the bathroom and splash water on my face. I don't bother with a shower; I won't be seeing anyone important today. I won't be seeing anyone important any day.

I aim a kick at the creature at my feet. My foot connects, and the thing lets out a whimper. I laugh.

I am in the kitchen when I see my father for the first time. He takes one look at me an grimaces.

"Put your cloak on," he says stiffly, wrapping his fingers around his wand a little more tightly.

My first instinct is to resist the command, but still I wrap the Cloak of Invisibility around my miserable body. I refuse to let my father know I am capable of resisting his Imperius Curse. My condition is awful enough; I don't need him tightening my restraint.

My father's toothbrush mustache turns up from its frown. I think that his real reason for rendering me invisible is so he doesn't have to see my decrepit state, so that he doesn't have to even consider comparing himself to me. My perfect father. How he sickens me.

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><p>He leaves for work later, giving me not a goodbye but a command to not leave, to not remove my cloak, not to send any owls. Standard protocol. The door shuts with a snap, he Disapparates with a crack, and then it is just Winky and me.<p>

My stomach rumbles, so I overthrow the Curse and rummage through the cabinet for breakfast.

The Elf makes a worried noise, but I ignore her. I can almost hear the protest she wants to voice. _"Master Barty should not be doing that,"_ she wants to say, but doesn't 'cause she knows I'll kick her.

I find a can of cold soup and bring it to the kitchen table, giving Winky a vicious kick on the way, for no reason in particular but that she annoys me.

I have only just sat at the table when I realize that, without a wand, I will not be able to open the soup. In a rage, I turn on Winky. She doesn't see me but she can feel my kicks.

"Open the can," I spit.

Shaking, she lifts a hand and points it toward the table. I watch as the metal lid peels itself away from the main can.

I smile. Today is a very ordinary day.

I settle into my father's great chair to spite him-not that he shall ever know-and begin to eat my cold meal.

This is my life, and I hate it. The only thing that keeps my spirit up is the hope that one day the Dark Lord will rise again and free me from my father's captivity. One day I will serve him as faithfully as I did before.

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><p>There is nothing to do all day. There is never anything to do all day. I sit, bored, chained in my command to never leave the house, chained more by my desire for my father to underestimate my ability.<p>

I drum my fingers across the surface of the table. When I grow sick of that, I rap my knuckles against it. It makes a satisfying sound.

After a while of this I notice my knuckles are bleeding. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts now, after I've felt the Cruciatus so much. I stand up, angry at this boring life, angry at my father from taking me from my noble prison.

Angry at the Boy Who Lived for destroying my master.

Somehow I am sitting again. Somehow my other hand has begun rapping. I end the action, angry again.

The pounding resides in my ears, a dull knocking against my brain. I shake my head and go to the sink for water.

It takes me a while—after the knocking has stopped—to realize that I hadn't imagined it. By this time there is someone else in my kitchen.

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><p><strong>Cliffhanger! No, not really. Ice Mice to whoever can guess the identity of our mysterious guest! You know you want them...click the box...yum...*eats Ice Mice*<strong>

**Okay then, Honeydukes chocolate! And hurry before I eat those too! :)**


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